There are some days (like, I admit, this one)
When walking down the street feels like too much,
All from the hatred of the beaming sun.
I know that there are times (I have felt such)
When living, on its own, seems such a chore
That breath is painful in the resting breast.
I said I've felt this - now I say no more:
I will not let myself be so oppressed,
Nor struggle so beneath the weight of living.
I choose to be the freer man and feel
Lighter and more glad, as if forgiving
All the world's slights, believing them unreal.
For all it throws at me, I still can say
I am alive - tomorrow's not today.
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